At Torcan’s beckoning, Padric was led up to the platform where a seat waited for him on the goblin leader’s right hand. The Middangeard captains stared at him and issued boisterous comments in their strange tongue, clapping each other on the back and laughing heartily before one of them thrust a sloshing horn into his hand. Padric drained it in four long pulls, the mead filling his mouth with sweetness and his head with silk. The men shouted their approval at this display, but Padric was not interested in impressing them. He just wanted to rid himself of his wits, so that he might endure this raucous gathering. The bear of a man on his left dragged a wench over to refill Padric’s horn, beaming broadly and talking to him in the lilting language of the fjordmen.

“Arnheir says kings grow small in Airlann,” Torcan translated without looking over, his eyes fixed on the crowded room. “But at least you have a royal thirst.”

Padric took another deep drink from his horn. “Tell Arnheir…that I am no king.”

“No,” Torcan said with a strange smile. “Not yet. And it makes no matter to these louts. They follow only the promise of wealth.”

“These salt-blooded whoresons have plundered the Tin Isles for years,” Padric said while smiling at the captains, raising his horn in salute. “Any wealth we had, they stole long ago.”

“The baubles of man,” Torcan scoffed, “are nothing compared to the treasures of the dwarves.”

“So that was their price,” Padric tried not to glower too strongly at the men surrounding him.

Torcan nodded. “For all their boasting, these men have troubles of their own. Their homeland is a frozen and thankless waste, home to giants and trolls. That is why they spend so much of every year raiding these shores. Only the dwarves know how to prosper in Middangeard and these dogs are a jealous bunch.”

“So they help you conquer Airlann and you return the favor in Middangeard,” Padric scoffed. “They are fools to trust you.”

Torcan looked over at him, a knowing gleam in his eye. “It is not me they trust, my lord.”

“I am lord of nothing.”

“So you were raised to believe,” Torcan said mildly. “They hid you well.”

“Who?” Padric asked. “Who hid me?”

“The Seelie Court…in the beginning,” Torcan said with disgust. “Then as the years crawled on and their power dwindled, they passed the burden to lesser beings. It has taken us too long to find the scions of our Lord King and it appears we were ignorant of an entire generation.”

“And you might have remained ignorant forever,” Padric had to laugh. “Twice you almost killed me, goblin.”

“Twice?” Torcan seemed more intrigued than surprised.

Padric nodded. “I stood with the men of Hog’s Wallow alongside Faabar of the Brindlebacks against you and that flame-drunk wizard.” Padric glanced around the hall. “We do not have the pleasure of his company?”